Listening to Beethoven's 6th, "By the brook".
An oboe emulates the quail's call
whilst I separate bud from the stem.
I admire the fragrance,
the magnificent music,
the reflection of the sun on freshly cut grass.
A cool breeze rustles the leaves on the trees
and my friend grins like a Cheshire cat.
If only all my days brought pleasures such as this.
I pull out another Rizla - "Ten papers left".
At this point I always find my thoughts wandering
to Nick Drake.
I picture him in a punt on the River Cam,
"Sunday" playing in the background.
Slowly drifting past the ancient colleges,
under the bridges; lying on his back,
idly watching the clouds roll by.
Doubtlessly he had days like this too;
though he was not unblemished by depression -
the "black eyed dog" as he called it.
He died at the age of 26 -
I prefer to think it was an accidental overdose.
I've finished rolling now.
Lighting up, I ask my friend to fetch
Pink Moon.
Author notes
I've not written a poem for almost a year and a half, so please excuse me if I'm rusty. Any feedback appreciated.
A contest entry
- NICK DRAKE by deep space.
300 points, ended April 30, 2008, 3 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
Thanks, glad you enjoyed it.
I think I've got everything by Nick Drake, including the stuff that wasn't released until quite recently, Family Tree - it's all absolutely brilliant, he's a true genius. The only song of his I'm not mad on is "Made to love magic" but everything else in the album is great. -
thanks
thanks so much for this,there are lots of undertones in this poem that i love.I am pleased that someone took the interest to actually write about him.
Listen to [clothes of sand,cello song and hanging on a star,the River man,Three Tours 5 classics,and light a big fat one
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